Glad He Ate Her

I slid my panties to the side and proceeded to slide a finger into my soggy twat. Once again I had stolen away to watch a porno on the Internet. I surfed for hours on end before I found the perfect one. A site that specialized in muff diving movies. My husband over the years has continuously denied me oral pleasure. Much to my dismay, I was feeling very under appreciated and neglected. I begged, pleaded, negotiated, whined, made false promises, pulled guilt trips, and yet my husband still wouldn't budge. He had more excuses than the President for his behavior, or lack thereof. He could be quite a selfish-acting bastard at times.

"It's nasty. It's unnecessary. Damn it, don't I please you the regular way? I'm well-hung, and I don't need to. I'm from New York and we don't do that. It's against my personal code of ethics. It's against my religion. Maybe next time, honey. For crying out loud, I have to kiss you with this mouth!" Blah, blah, blah! I had grown rather weary of his lame excuses, and began to retaliate myself. I would often put on a naughty nightie from Victoria's Secret and then innocently model it for him. I'd let him catch glimpses of nipples or a full view of my firm ass in a thong and when he became aroused beyond control, I would pull a classic, "Not tonight, dear. I have a terrible migraine," and roll over to go to sleep, leaving him frustrated and alone. Or to really piss him off, when we finally did have sex, I'd pull (what he calls) the "Roadkill" shenanigan. Just lie there completely motionless, not interacting or moving. He hated that more than anything. "You're being a dead fuck. I hate when you do that. I might as well go down to the mortuary and get a piece there." At times he would give me the silent treatment or like a dog with his tail tucked between his legs, sneak off to the bathroom with some Vaseline and visit Rosie Palmer and her five sisters. It was sweet revenge, served on a platter. However, there was one problem: While manipulating the pussy, I was depriving myself too. My frustrations had all but come to an end.

You may wonder: Why in the hell would I marry a man who doesn't deep sea dive, especially when I like it so much? Well, in the beginning, I was young, dumb and full of cum. I was only nineteen when I married him. He was only the second man I had ever been with sexually. He wasn't lying when he said he was hung. The son-of-a-bitch is packing more meat than a roll of Italian salami. But it didn't seem to bother me at first. Until I started hearing my friends' tell me how their husbands were going down like nobody's business.

"Sometimes, Mike comes to my job around lunch time. He tells me that we'll go to the park and he'll have me for lunch. He can't wait to taste me, he says," Deena chimed, slightly flushed by the thought of it. And there I sat, listening to my two best friends rub salt in my wounds, unknowingly. Something had to be done- and quick.

While my retaliation games had slowed from every chance I get, to a once every now and then, I was still feeling unfulfilled. Cheating wasn't an option, period. So that left porn or back to Square One of begging and pleading. Neither I was crazy about, but my needs were important and had been neglected far too long.

"Ooh," a moan managed to escape my lips, despite my hardest to be quiet. The movie in it's liquid images darted around the screen. Even thought it was a little fuzzy, you had to be a complete moron to not understand the images on the screen. The first scene was with two lesbians: one woman was going down on the other with such intensity, I could have came without any masturbation at all. They way she sucked and pulled on that woman's labia was driving me wild. Time and time, her short stiff tongue dipped in and out of her honey pot, while the first woman tried to keep her one leg in the air to give the other access to her dripping snatch. It was a scene straight from Hustler magazine. She smacked noisily on her snatch, almost like it was food. Dip a finger in, lick the finger, spread lips even wider, taste the moist hole. This repeated for almost fifteen minutes total. And the lesbo on the receiving was obviously not complaining. She arched her back in ecstasy, moaning and groaning. As if that were not enough, the licking lesbo pulled the other lesbo's legs as far back as she could, exposing cunt and ass. She buried her face in, and every great now and then you would see her tongue darting in and out of her cum-drenched hole. Every now and then the licking lesbo would stop and smirk at the lesbo on the receiving end. Then came the sneak attack: A unexpected rim job with two fingers buried in her lover's furburger.

I was moving closer and closer to my own orgasm when I heard a car door slam. I hurried and clicked the "x" on my window, shutting out the entire movie. Good thing I remembered to bookmark the site, I thought, buttoning my pants. It was 3:30 and I had let the day slip away. I knew my husband was either on his way through the front door or already inside the house somewhere. It wasn't unusual for him to sneak in on me, to see if he could catch me into something that I shouldn't be dabbling in. I was way too clever. I had him beat at his own game.

I pulled my hair back in a high ponytail, assumed an innocent I-wasn't-doing-anything-wrong-look and darted stealthily around the corner like a ninja. Surprisingly, there was no one in the house at all. There was a car parked, illegally, in front of the house, though. I slipped on some old Nike's and crept outside.

"Is this the Coleman residence?" a man's voice asked.

"Uh, yes. Who wants to know?" I asked, removing the palm tree branch from my view.

"I believe you scheduled an appointment for a DirecTV installer to come look at your place about a satellite dish."

I was silent for a minute. Damn, there HAD been something I was forgetting!

"Ma'am?"

"Yes, please come in. I knew I was hanging around the house for a reason."

In walked a tall, and very handsome and muscular man, fitted in jeans, a blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up showcasing his well-chiseled muscles and a patch that read, "Frank." He had a body like Stallone with the Marlboro man face. Good-looking and it was obvious by his line of work, good with his hands. I smirked at the possibilities.

He stared at me for a minute as if to say something, decided against it, spilled his work tools on the floor and began drilling.

Suddenly, the phone rang, snapping me out of lustful thoughts. The Caller ID box read: Unknown. It had to be Deena. She had to be just coming back from another "lunchtime date" with the husband, and was calling to give me all the details. I crept out the garage door, occasionally peeking in to watch the installer's ass move in those impossibly tight jeans. How bad I wanted to run behind him and smack it!

"Are you listening?" Deena yelled.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm still here."

"Anyway...so he folds the back seats down in the Escalade, making it into a bed. I lie down on it and he asks me to remove my panties. I remove them as usual. But this time, instead of eating it, he wanted to play with it!"

"Play? What happened to eating?" I asked, slipping a finger in my ever-moistening cunt.

"Wait, it gets better. He had a special treat I didn't know anything about. He had my legs spread open, pussy exposed, and he blowing on it and telling me how good it smells."

"Anddd then...."

"He shoved a strawberry in me, real deep. I didn't even see it coming. Before I could say a word, he applied the Pocket Rocket to my clit."

"Oh, my...Rocket on the clit and food in the cunt?" I asked incredulously. This was too good to be true.

"Yes, and if that wasn't enough, he buried his tongue in my hole trying to dig the strawberry out. It felt soooo good. His tongue maneuvering around in my hole. The whole object was to see if he could get it out without using his hands at all."

"Well, did he get it out?" my voice elevated. I was getting HOT and very bothered.

"Yes, and it was a cummy, gooey mess. It was pure pussy puree. I mean inside of the strawberry and my fuck juice--mixed together. I squirted all over the back seats and in his mouth. He even inserted a straw inside me, and sucked on that to make sure the rest was out. And the rest of my lunch hour, he ate me out like regular. He loooovves to eat pussy. When we left, he didn't even bother to wipe the smell or juices out of his goatee. He says he doesn't because that way he can smell my puss all day long. Sometimes he sneaks away to the bathroom to jerk off if the smell gets to him real bad."

Deena sounded exhausted with excitement. My attitude had soured and I was completely silent, but my "whore"mones were raging!

"Helloooo..." Deena yelled into the phone.

"I'm still here. I am just temporarily fantasizing about the DirecTV man in my house."

"Well, what about him?" she inquired.

"He looks like the Marlboro man with a better body. He has the five o'clock shadow working and he has nice hands. Working-man hands. Tight ass. Nice mouth--sexy and seductive. A mouth that says, "Let me taste you...."

"I know where you are going with this," Deena said, interrupting me mid-fantasy.

"Well, I am sexually frustrated," I said, yelling into the receiver. It seemed that no one could feel my pain! No one understood my plight!

"Calm down, Miss Feisty. You'll get your turn soon enough."

"When? When I am seventy-five? When I'm too old to care? Please, I need the satisfaction now. Not thirty years from now, goddammit!"

Suddenly, I heard a gentle knocking on the garage door and I rushed to get Deena off the phone.

I shimmied back into the house just to find the Marlboro man standing in the living room, looking frustrated.

"Is there a problem?" I asked.

"Yes, I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with your friend."

"Excuse me?" was all that I managed to get out. My ears were burning!!

"Something about some food in someone's cunt, a Pocket Rocket and....." he was grasping for words to finish. He didn't have to. I was well aware that he knew more than enough.

"I have a friend whose husband takes her out to lunch, like, twice a week. She buys her lunch, and then they go to a local park not far from her job, and she is his "lunch." While is nibbling on a salad or hamburger, he is having a "furburger," if you know what I mean. And this time, he bought some dessert and he shoved a... Wait a minute, why am I telling you all this if you overheard all of it?"

"I didn't overhear all of it, just most of it. And I was wondering, if I may ask, why are you so frustrated sexually?"

"My husband refuses to perform oral sex on me, since you really want to know."

"Daaaammmmmmnnnnn, ain't that a bitch? I have heard lots of shit before, but not eating the pussy ain't been one of them. That's wild."

"I'm accustomed to not getting it done. It doesn't bother me anymore either."

"Liar, liar," he said, wagging his finger at me.

"Really, it doesn't," I insisted.

"I can see the wet spot from where you leaked through your panties."

I looked down--and sure enough, I had a big spot where my cum had soaked through my panties and into my pants.

As I stepped out of my pants, he ran up behind me and began to massage my tits, one by one. His large hands enveloped my breasts as if they were made to be held by him. He gently stroked and teased my nipples with his index finger and thumbs, alternating between rubbing and pulling at them. He then lifted me up in the air, and positioned me doggy-style on the table.

"Arch your ass a little," he instructed.

I obeyed and positioned my ass a little higher. I felt him spread my asscheeks and wandered what might be his next move.

He wet one finger and slid it in my asshole.

"Tight as hell. Looks like hubby might be neglecting you in other areas too, eh?

He pushed a little more, and gradually the majority of the object disappeared inside my asshole. He began thrusting his makeshift "dildo" at a rhythmic pace in and out of my ass. He smacked a cheek from time to time, but mainly concentrating on the rhythm of the "dildo."

"Nice, isn't it?" he asked.

"Yes, it is. Different."

"Okay, hold on to this," he said, placing my hand on the "dildo" in my ass.

"Where are you going?"

"Nowhere. Just looking for my cigarette lighter."

"For what? I don't smoke."

"Neither do I. But this dildo I have been fucking your tight asshole with is really a candle. And when I light the other end of it and it burns slowly, the wax will melt on your ass, increasing your orgasm by one hundred and ten percent."

He moved my hand away, and I heard him light the candle in my ass. He pumped more rhythimically and then out of nowhere, I felt a quick blow of breath and he yanked the candle from my ass.

"Hey!" I protested. "I was starting to like that."

"Yeah, well like this," and he flipped me over on my back.

I was spread eagle on the table, on my back and unsure where we were going from here.

"I need you to spread those thighs as wide as you can," he ordered.

I obligingly obeyed his orders.

He spread my glory hole open and then let my lips fall back together. He leaned in as if he were going to taste it, but anytime he'd catch a glimpse of me staring at him, he'd step back. His middle fingers were easing closer and closer to the entry of my love box. His fingers circled the rim of my inner hole and he inhaled my sex in deep breaths.

He stretched my lips apart as wide as he could, and submerged his face in my furpie!

"Oh, God, yes," I cried.

I watched in awe as his tongue darted skillfully in and out of my hole. He occasionally sucked furiously on my inner lips and then tickled my clit with this tongue. He lapped hungrily at my snatch, leaving no juices behind. He slurped noisily on my cunt as if he were a man on Death Row having his last meal. He explored every avenue of my twat. He was the master of muffdiving!

"Talk me dirty to me," he mumbled in between breaths.

"Tongue-fuck me!" I yelled.

He applied a vacuum like suction to my pussy with his mouth and then he let his tongue wriggle all over my pussy!

"Lick it! Up and down!" I ordered.

"Hold your lips open," he barked.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," I replied, jokingly.

He stopped licking and stared at my sloppy wet snatch.

"A pussy that tastes this good is usually what we call back home "table pussy." It's so good, you need a knife and a fork to really enjoy it."

He grabbed a fork off my dining room set, which was a mess. He slid the handle end inside my pussy and pumped furiously. He opted for second fork, this time pressing the eating prongs against my clit, while he licked outside the prongs!

My eyes were rolling in the back of my head as I tried to keep myself on the table and hold my cunt lips open. I was so caught up in my sexual escapade, I hadn't noticed anyone come in the house, or the room for that matter.

Much to my dismay, my husband was standing in the living room, with a look of disbelief engraved on his face.

"Stop, Frank. Stop!" I yelled.

"Why? You know you don't want me to," he said in a mocking voice.

"Yes, I do. We have company," I said, pointing to my husband.

All three of us stood in our tracks, motionless, silent and completely unaware of what to do next.

I avoided my husband's menacing stare as did Frank. We had been caught in the act, literally. Our pants down and there was no room for excuses, I'm sorry's, or it's-not-what-it-looks-like.

"Honey...," I stammered, looking for words.

"Look, she told me everything. Since you won't go down, I will. In fact, I love too. So, a friend helps a friend in the time of need, right? Right now, she needs some extra attention. And right now, I need you to hold her legs and twat open, while I finish munching. So, are you in or out?" Frank said, wiping my orgasmic juices on his shirt.

My husband just stared at Frank. He didn't blink, twitch a muscle, he didn't even breathe for a whole minute.

Then he walks over and without a word, holds my legs to the open position.

Frank resumed his position in between them, eating like there was no tomorrow.

He must have smacking so noisily that eventually my husband got in on the action. They took turns eating me out! Frank first had to show my husband how to do it effectively, but once he was rolling, no one could stop him.

"My turn," Frank would declare when it seemed my husband had been hogging it all to himself.

My husband extracted his tongue from my pie and Frank inserted his and began drilling.

Every now and then, my husband would christen my nipples with my cum. He massage my cum into my nipples keeping them stiff with excitement.

I was barely hanging on. This charade had carried on for more than four hours and I had stopped counting my orgasms last at fifteen! I was weak, but happy. This was more than I could have ever bargained for! Wait until Deena hears about this one!

Frank lapped the last bit of fuck juice from my well-worn pussy, and extracted his middle finger from my asshole.

He complained that he had a "kink" in his neck and that his arthritis was stirring up.

My legs were sore for being in the same position for so long, but other than that I was relieved! Sexual frustration had packed it's bags and left!

My husband didn't have much of anything to say, nay or yeah.

Frank gathered his tools, bid us farewell, and that was the last we ever heard of him. Hell, we didn't even get a bill for the DirecTV for the first six months we had the damn thing!

I soaked in the bathtub about an hour before finally getting out, wrinkled like a prune.

My husband had relaxed on the couch, remote in hand, waiting for my arrival.

I slipped on a thong with the matching camisole, massaged in my favorite scented lotion and sauntered into the living room.

"What's on tonight?" he asked, stretching my legs across his lap.

"Gladiator with Russell Crowe at 10 on HBO. And then Real Sex 15 at midnight," I said, winking.